Winter Rose
by Mistflyer1102
Summary: Even though they are the most feared pair of assassins in the world, they've always been there for one another, no matter what.
1. Balance

**I**

**Balance**

* * *

Natalia hated dancing sometimes.

Her Red Room instructors constantly emphasized the importance of learning ballet. _Most men would pay for a pretty and flexible dancer for the night, but more importantly, so would your target._ But at eighteen, she didn't feel like obeying anyone. She felt too caged, and for once, she wanted to be free.

She stood on top of the rooftops, balancing as she walked along on tiptoe. Stretched before her, Moscow slept as a steady snowfall descended from above, increasing the risk of slipping and falling to her death. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the winds rushing through the loose material of her coat. The silence was liberating, she didn't have to listen to orders or follow a strict schedule-

"Easy does it," a soft male voice said behind her, catching her hands before she could stumble in surprise. Keeping her hands extended, he nudged her feet to prompt her to walk again. "Don't want you to slip."

It took her a few seconds to realize that it was enigmatic Red Room instructor, the one the others called 'the Winter Soldier'. She'd seen him before, remaining on the edge of the training room with the head instructor, Vladimir Menshikov. He was also perhaps one of four people in the Red Room who was fluent in English, which he always reverted to once he fully lost his temper with a trainee. She always thought it odd, but a little cute, that while the other three English speakers had Russian accents, the Winter Soldier had an American one. It was a refreshing change. Starting to pull away, she said, "I didn't mean to-"

Whatever she hadn't meant to do was lost as her footing slipped on the accumulating ice. The Winter Soldier reflexively caught her coat and pulled her closer, holding her tight for a moment. A smile quirked for a moment before he gently turned her around and extended her hands out again. "Your balance, as we've just seen, is exemplary until you are startled. We may need to fix that, primarily your awareness of your surroundings. I watched you for a good five minutes before I stepped in, and you panicked," he said as he gently turned her away from the edge of the roof and begin walking back. This time he kept by her side, gently holding her hand as though he was leading her out to the ballroom floor instead across a snowy rooftop in Moscow.

_What is he doing?_ Natalia had been fully expecting a sharp reprimand, or at least anything but this. She snuck a glance at the Winter Soldier; whoever he had been in his life before the Red Room, he'd either been a soldier or a member of the upper classes or even both; the hand that was not holding hers was folded behind his back. Had he been wearing a formal military uniform and not his usual body armor, she knew he would have turned many heads. He seemed rather calm and serene as compared to his usual tense stance in the training room.

Still, she felt she had to explain herself.

"I –"

"Would you explain your motives to a captor?" he suddenly asked.

She stared at him. "No?"

"No, you wouldn't because he would figure it out for himself," he said. He glanced at her and said, "Do not tell me anything, I need this practice as much as you do."

"Practice?"

"Balance, Natalia. This just might save your life one day, and you can't really learn this in a classroom," he said, releasing her hand so she could turn around. He didn't take it back, but he gestured that she keep walking as he talked and followed. "I have spoken to Menshikov more than once, but he doesn't seem to think that this would be important. So you and I will have to do it on our own. It has saved my life more than once. We'll have to take it one step at a time."

"But why me?" she asked, pausing to look back at him.

Something flickered in his eyes before disappearing again. "You tell me once you find out," he said before making a motion for her to turn around and face forward. "We're both rule-breakers, and don't listen to the handlers too much."

"So kindred spirits?" she suggested, lowering her hands so she could turn to face him.

He titled his head as he thought about it, and then nodded. "That and something else. Now get back to work."

Natalia frowned, but went back to the exercise as dictated. That was an unfinished thought she'd have to _gently _pursue later.

The real question though was if she could trust him or not.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, this is another one of the 30 Day OTP Challenges. This one however has three extra drabbles that I wrote a few weeks ago, but wanted to publish together as a part of a bigger collection. This seemed like an easier way to do it. Black Widow/Winter Soldier and all related media belong to Marvel.**

**This drabble happens to be one of the 'extras'. **


	2. Dream

**II**

**Dream**

* * *

Everything was still and quiet.

As Natalia Romanova looked over the rooftops of a sleeping Moscow, she drew her knees closer to herself as she stared at the steadily growing blanket of white as the snow came down in a steady fall. It had been a long two weeks of study under both Menshikov in the Red Room and Sokoloff at the ballet school, with no 'extracurricular activities' to keep her distracted from the difficulty of the constant training. The Winter Soldier had been sent to France for two weeks, targeting a prominent French politician who was also a former war hero from the Second World War. He had been going so deep undercover that he was going to be out of contact with his regular handlers, something that was causing Menshikov so much anxiety he'd been taking it out on the students. So if he wasn't going to be in touch with his regular handlers, Natalia knew full well that it meant that he wasn't going to be in touch with her either.

Not that she'd been expecting communication anyway.

They weren't close, not in that way. He kept the lines between student and teacher very clear, never reprimanding her but keeping her physically at arm's length for all their exercises.

That didn't stop her daydreams though.

Not that she'd _ever_ admit to having them aloud.

They were more of an escape from the Red Room anyway, something to keep her company when the nights got lonely. The Red Room could train her all they wanted, but she knew they would never be able to drill something as basic as a biological response out of her. Hell, they were using that shift in hormones to their advantage, teaching her and the other twenty-seven girls still in the program to use sensuality as a weapon. There were already rumors of another girl, Karina Yevpraksiya, having attracted the attention of a man who was already slated for death at the hands of a more seasoned assassin. The Red Room evidently was reconsidering whom to send out after the mark.

Natalia felt herself grin as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. Just because he wasn't physically here didn't mean it had to stay that way.

If she could imagine him now, he'd be standing behind her, probably mentally berating her for leaving herself exposed to his blade. Hell, he'd probably consider pressing the flat of a knife against her skin just to prove a point. She could imagine hearing the faint crunching of his footsteps as he came closer. She closed her eyes as she felt his gloved hand run gently through her hair, delicately pushing it back from her face. Her face tilted toward this apparition as the cold leather brushed against bare skin. Neither of them should be out there, not in the cold-

She let out a soft gasp and her eyes abruptly flew open when he pulled her toward him into a kiss, slow and warm. There was that heart-wrenching moment of sheer _terror_ when not only did she realize he was real, but they were actually kissing and he was finding out about her secret.

Instead of pushing him away, like she maybe should have done, she reached around his shoulders and pulled him closer, and the two of them just sat there in the quiet and peace.

* * *

**A/N: Another 'extra'. **


	3. Touch

**III**

**Touch**

* * *

By some unspoken rule, the Winter Soldier was not a very tactile person.

Rumor had it that the need for touch had been drilled out of him during his training; his primary handler, Vladimir Menshikov, was notorious for that sort of thing if the stories of Menshikov's previous victims, er, _students_ were anything to go by. Other theories were that the doctors had been the ones to do it, making him associate touch with pain, or that the man wasn't even human to begin with and was actually a flawed android that happened to adopt a cynical personality. The metal arm helped reinforce the latter one. If that wasn't enough, he nudged people aside with an elbow or shoulder, kept his students at a noticeable distance, and always wore gloves so that the only exposed skin was his face.

Chances were likely, that if one got close enough to his face to touch it, he was only faking death before snapping the wrist and rendering one immobile before going in for the kill.

Natalia Romanova, one of the younger Red Room recruits, knew better. Reality couldn't be farther from the rumors than it already was.

It started when she realized the instructors were constantly overlooking her, seeing a young girl who has to give her everything in order to keep up with the others. Not a threat. The Winter Soldier had inevitably seen the same thing, and as a result, pulled her under his wing.

That was when she found out that the Winter Soldier was a rather touchy person.

Behind closed doors, after training sessions, she'd stay with him in the lounge that was through a side door in the training room because more often than not, they both had injuries to attend to. Menshikov never wore gloves when patching the Winter Soldier or Natalia up. At one point, after a particular grueling live fire exercise, she was still shaking from the fright. Menshikov paused long enough in the bandaging of her arm in order to take her hand and squeeze it gently, muttering something less than flattering about Stalyenko, the Red Room officer in charge of the Black Widow program, before reassuring her. The gesture, while odd and unexpected coming from the officer, still felt comforting in that she knew there was someone out there who at least didn't want to see her die.

She didn't think much of that particular incident. She soon graduated to the field under the Winter Soldier's supervision, and next thing she knew, she was in a new world where a simple act of mercy could be her undoing.

It had been on a mission to Paris, to assassinate a high-profile politician, when the politician's minions had caught onto the Russians' presences _fast_. The Winter Soldier, as usual, was nowhere to be found. She was running when a hand snatched hers and pulled her out of sight in the nearest alley.

"What-"

The Winter Soldier clamped a gloved hand over her mouth before she could shriek, and next thing she knew, his exposed (natural) skin slid over her shaking cold hand. Wrapping her small fingers in his, he squeezed it gently as he rested her forehead against his.

* * *

**A/N: 30 Day Challenge Prompt: Holding hands.**


	4. Paris

**IV**

**Paris**

* * *

"What is it that you do after a successful mission?" Natalia Romanova asked in French, her voice low as the two of them walked through the streets of Paris, near the outskirts and safely far away from the touristy center of the city.

The Winter Soldier hummed for a moment as his gloved hand found hers. It was eerie to see how well he passed himself off as an American tourist, especially now that he was casually swinging their clasped hands as though they were lovers on vacation instead of assassins that finished their mission. "Depends on how injured I am," he said finally in French, squeezing her hand gently. "Today though, we're going to eat."

"Eat?"

"Food, little Natalia," he replied, flashing an easy smile to another couple nearby.

Natalia couldn't help but smile as well; his good mood was infectious, and she knew to treasure it while it lasted. This last target, Francis Bonnefoy, had proved to be a difficult one, and it had come down to her luring him into a state of false security to give the Winter Soldier a chance to finish the job.

Miles away from the target's home though, they were walking among native Parisians, and it felt like a dream to Natalia. Ever since their kiss on the rooftop in Moscow, he seemed to unconsciously showing her a side to life other than the one she'd grown up with since she was in her early teens. Soft touches, light kisses, she'd never put so much effort into maintaining her cover such as now. The Winter Soldier obviously was the master at it, able to keep a straight face while pushing her to her limits only to kiss her senseless the _second_ the exercises ended and the instructors had left the room.

It was going so fast, but for once, she didn't care. It didn't matter to her that she didn't know his name, his past, nothing about his life before he came to the Red Room. What mattered now was what he did in the Red Room, and with her. He was here _now_. She didn't have illusions of a forever, they were both assassins, today could be a last day for either of them. Chances were more likely that he would die before her; she was still training and he was still at Vasily Karpov's beck and call. Running away wasn't an option; he was duty-bound to serve the Red Room and would not leave. She had nowhere to go.

"Nat?"

She looked back up at him. He was frowning, carefully studying her face. Gently pulling her aside, he said, "What is wrong?"

She wasn't skilled enough to lie to his face yet. "Just thinking about us," she said honestly, hating that she sounded like the infatuated girl that she knew she was.

He smiled. "Natalia, focus on the here and now," he said quietly in Russian, pushing some of her short red hair away from her face, a habit she'd noticed early on that he subconsciously developed when agitated. "We have tomorrow, don't we?"

Natalia frowned. "But-"

He put a finger to her lips. "So long as you and I are standing here, there is always a tomorrow. Regardless of what Menshikov says," he said firmly, the curious American accent coming through in his agitation. She'd only recently been able to put a label to it after having heard other Americans speak Russian less than six months ago.

"Optimist then?" she teased softly.

"Only when I'm in a beautiful city with a beautiful girl," he said, winking. Natalia almost asked him how he was still unmarried; there were plenty of female officers in the Red Room. But then he leaned forward and kissed her gently, and all thoughts of potential female threats flew out of her mind.

When he pulled back, he switched back to French, saying, "Now, back to lunch. There's this little café that I went to the last time I was here, the owner likes me." He offered his elbow, which Natalia took with a soft smile.

"Recommendations?" she asked, grinning as the two of them began walking again. She looked up in his direction to repeat her question when she failed to hear an answer, but froze.

He wasn't there.

The entire street lay in ruins. The people, the vibrancy, it was all gone. Buildings had gaping windows like missing teeth and debris lay strewn all about the street. But most of all, it was unnervingly _silent_.

"Nat?"

Startled, she turned around, reflexively reaching for the pistol at her side. Clint Barton took a step back, a hand raised to put her at ease. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, you'd just zoned out a bit."

Widow looked at the others, realizing with a jolt that it was no longer summer of 1965, but rather the early months of 2013. The other Avengers were still examining Hydra debris or quietly investigating the nearby buildings. She remembered in that moment that Hydra had razed this part of Paris to the ground before S.H.I.E.L.D. had chased them out, but it was all destroyed anyway and no one had had the heart to rebuild again.

"_So long as you and I are standing here, there is always a tomorrow."_

_But we're not standing here. Only I am._

Widow had seen the Winter Soldier's body, visually confirmed it for Fury when an unlucky hiker found the body in a shallow grave in the mountains of the Ukraine. The face had been badly burned, but she noted that the cybernetic limb was missing even though the attachments were still there. The uniform was also achingly familiar as well. The local village had had legends surrounding an obscure event between local rebels and Russian authorities, but the villagers had dared not entered the mountain passes; the entire place was haunted with the ghosts of the past.

Just like the little street here in Paris.

"I'm fine," she said curtly before going back to searching for the Soviet spy rumored to be operating in secret in the area. The Avengers needed to get the jump on him before the reverse happened; S.H.I.E.L.D. literally had no information on this man, but he'd already sent anonymous threats to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Squaring her shoulders, Widow continued on her way. The ghosts would have to remain as ghosts, memories of a past she no longer cared to remember.

Love was for children, and she most certainly wasn't a child anymore.

* * *

**A/N: The last 'extra' drabble.**


	5. Pillow

**V**

**Pillow**

* * *

"Behold, ladies and gentlemen! The great and mighty terror of the Western World!"

Natasha Romanov cracked an eye open and glared at Clint Barton, who remained still with his hands thrown up into the air. "Clint, the 'great and mighty terror of the Western world' also happens to be a light sleeper," she warned as she felt James Barnes shift on the couch behind her, but otherwise did not wake.

"Well, I'm feeling not as panicky about that anymore since we were able to clear up the fact that I did not kill you while we were in Budapest," Clint said, jumping when Barnes unexpectedly moved and wrapped a hand around Natasha's waist, pulling her back close to his front.

"Clint, just go away. I want to sleep," Natasha grumbled, and as though to emphasize her point, she rolled over so that she was facing James's chest.

She heard Clint grumble to himself. "Have it your way, then," he said before leaving.

She turned back to James to find him laughing softly. "How long have you been awake?" she quietly accused.

"Long enough."

She allowed him to pull her closer, and tucked her head underneath his chin. The two were lying on the sofa in a fabled quiet corner of the Avengers' mansion. Quiet moments like these were extremely rare, given both their jobs with S.H.I.E.L.D. and James's occasional dabblings with the C.I.A. (which only served to irritate the agency even further, not that James was bothered by that. If anything, the inter-agency squabbles seemed to amuse him rather than annoy him, like the squabbles always did to Fury). She laid her head against his chest, listening to the reassuring heartbeat. He'd just recently returned from Medical, his first visit as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and not as a prisoner of war, and he seemed unnaturally calm about the whole thing.

"How did the visit to Medical go?" she finally asked.

"All right. Sanderson wants to examine the cybernetic arm closer, namely the skin where it connects to. He gets twitchy a lot, is that normal? I can't figure out what his triggers are so I avoid them," he said, shrugging slightly with one shoulder.

"I wouldn't bother, he has to deal with us. And it's more of his usual reactions to the daily frustrations we present him as opposed to 'triggers'. He and Miller are currently the only two doctors cleared to be working with Special Ops, and as you know, we get into a lot of scrapes each day," Natasha said, snuggling closer now that Clint was gone and there wouldn't be any witnesses to this. James didn't count, and the other Avengers were who knew where. It wasn't her job to keep track, that was for the overworked Avengers liaison officer.

"Mm, I was kinda looking forward to provoking Sanderson, he looks like he's the type to take the bait more often than is healthy for his sanity," James replied sleepily.

"Now, I never said you _couldn't_…"

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: cuddling somewhere**


	6. Movie

**VI**

**Movie**

* * *

"What the hell is _this_?"

He could almost _feel_ Natasha's amusement, and just knew that the sarcasm was about to come. "That, James, is a DVD. You see, when people want to watch movies nowadays…"

"I know what a DVD is, I just wanted to know who made this movie," James said, holding up a DVD he'd found on the shelf.

Natasha frowned. "Which one is it?"

James mentally braced himself. "James Bond, _From Russia With Love_," he said through gritted teeth. "Believe it or not, I remember seeing this because there was a mark that loved those films and I couldn't get close enough to her without sitting through _five_ of these."

Natasha laughed. "Clint got it for me one year, as a gag gift. I just amuse myself by critiquing everything in it. It's more fun when you have Agent Carter watching with you, she has relatives in MI6 and she knows that the historical accuracy in that is laughable, even when it came out in the sixties," she said, setting down the clean place settings at the kitchen table. "We watch it when we need to make fun of someone."

"Who, Sean Connery or Daniela Bianchi?" James asked, frowning at the DVD cover.

"Both if need be. Or Robert Shaw. It doesn't matter, the historical inaccuracy, the exaggeration of the characters, whatever. The point is that it entertains me when I'm having a bad day," Natasha said, rolling her eyes before going back to the counter. "And more importantly, it didn't have the intended effect that Clint was going for, so as long as I don't let it bother me, the more put-out _he'll_ be." Leaving the towels where they were, she gestured toward the TV. "Put it in, we can watch and mock it together."

"I don't know…"

"James, just stick it in. If you're going to complain about characterizations or something menial, at least keep in mind that it could be a whole lot worse," Natasha said, flopping down on the couch as he put the DVD into the player. "MI6? They've got an actual agent named James Bond."

"I know, we've met already in San Fran. Was he named after the character, or was it coincidence?" James asked, crossing over to join Natasha, grabbing the remote on his way over.

"Coincidence, Sharon says that MI6 tore records apart to double-check. Bond of course thought the whole affair was entertaining, especially when someone made the executive decision to film another movie. The thought process behind that decision was to perpetuate the idea that Bond is a fictional character," Natasha explained, shrugging with one shoulder.

"Hm. Wonder what rating a movie about us would get, you and me," James remarked thoughtfully.

"R, if they wanted all the gory details before I defected and you came home."

"Really? I was thinking after St. Petersburg, it would have been NC-17."

Natasha made a face. "You _would _say something about St. Petersburg, even _after_ we agreed not to talk about it," she said, scowling as the opening credits began.

James smirked. "Best night of my life, why _wouldn't_ I bring it up again? It's not like the Red Room is watching us anymore or anything like that," he said before kissing her hair.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Gaming/Watching a movie**


	7. Stars

**VII**

**Stars**

* * *

"Well, that's not _quite_ what I had in mind when I said I wanted a night out with you, but then again-"

"I thought it was a nice touch. We got to fight other people, and legally. As in, Fury won't murder the two of us later because we got into a scrape with A.I.M.," Natasha replied, leaning her head against his shoulder as the two of them watched S.H.I.E.L.D. officers haul MODOK away. She glanced at James, and then said, "Want to go looking for more trouble? It's Saturday night and it's not even ten yet."

"Well, that would take away our argument if Fury got grumpy about us getting into too much trouble. I vote we try dinner again but without the pissed off A.I.M. goons," James said, kissing her hair lightly before nudging her toward a coffee shop nearby.

She smirked. "Going all soft on me now, Barnes?" she teased.

James shrugged. "I'll admit I wasn't the nicest of people to go out with in the past, always putting the mission first, so I'd been thinking the other day that, well," his voice trailed off, but Natasha remained silent. She remembered her difficulties transitioning to the Western World with so much blood on her hands, and knew that James was struggling with the old guilt of his past crimes against those who had once been his friends. Evidently that included her, given that James had been born in an era where he'd been taught to respect women, rather than train them to be killers.

"I think, what I'm trying to say," James said finally, "Is that while our trips together in the past were nice once the mission was over, I still owe you more than that," he added as they entered the small coffee shop and walked toward the counter.

Natasha smiled and squeezed his hand gently. "Well, there are still things here in the city to do. IF you're feeling particularly venturous, we could always work in tandem, steal one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s smaller jets, and travel somewhere. We're both on mandatory leave for another week," she said, winking.

"Maybe we could take the Quinjet's prototype, the one that Stark gave to S.H.I.E.L.D. since he was done with it and Fury caught him in a good mood. How does sunny Spain appeal to you?" he asked, winking before turning to order a coffee.

"Whereabouts in Spain were you thinking?" she asked, leaning on the counter as the barista asked for her order.

"Ronda, thought we could take a little trip there again. I hear Mario's still in charge of the hotel," he said after she'd ordered tea. "You know that he loves us so much."

Natasha grinned at the thought of seeing the energetic Spaniard again. "Are we going to pretend to be an engaged couple, or are we going ot make his day by telling him we're finally married and on our honeymoon?" she asked, remembering their cover story from last time and Mario's hardest efforts to subtly coerce a confession of love out of James the entire time by flirting shamelessly with Natasha.

"Yes. He'll definitely leave us alone after that," James said, grinning. He glanced up as their names were called, and said, "So we steal the jet tonight?"

Natasha smirked. "After we pack."

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: On a date**


	8. Ronda

**VIII**

**Ronda**

* * *

James didn't get jealous easily.

Or at least that's what he told himself, especially since he knew what would happen if he exhibited _anything_ close to possessive behavior around Natasha.

As the Winter Soldier, he'd behaved that way more often than he was proud to admit now that he looked back on it. But even back then, Natasha belonged to no one, he'd said as much to one of the trainers after getting chewed out about Natasha's evident unavailability as she was set to marry another officer.

But it was getting damn hard _not _to get up and take her out of the dance in the small town square, given how close Mario was drifting toward her. It was harder still, knowing that the Spaniard was merely manipulating him again, starting when he asked her for the first dance. And it was working.

_Damn_.

"Jealousy was never an attractive trait, James," Natasha chided as she moved to stand in front of him, breaking his concentration. Taking his hand, she pulled him up and moved him effortlessly toward the middle of the pavilion. "We even knew Mario was going to provoke you like this."

He shrugged with one shoulder, making a face. "Still adjusting to changing attitudes toward women. I don't have a problem with it, I'm glad that equality is becoming more important, I just didn't want to take that progress a step back," he admitted. Tapping his head, he said, "I've still got the seventies mindset here."

"Well, you're handling it better than Steve ever did, less of a time jump," Natasha said, kissing him lightly on the cheek as he drew her closer. "That aside, I do appreciate the fact that you're making an effort to adjust," she said finally as the two walked onto the dance floor, swaying to the music, which was going at a slow pace.

Ducking his head as he wrapped his arms around her waist before drawing her closer for a kiss. He felt her smile before returning it, and then gently pulling away. "I miss doing this, just you and me and no damn responsibility…"

"You know, you're the last person I would ever expect to hear that from," he teased before kissing her lightly again.

"Mm, just because I'm good at my job doesn't mean I have to necessarily like it _all_ the time," she whispered before kissing him again.

"I don't know, I'm pretty sure that was enthusiasm you expressed when we were charging MODOK down," James teased, playfully bumping noses with her before pulling her close to his body.

He didn't know what she thought of his attention toward her nowadays, and _not_ just tonight. In the Soviet days, they'd had to keep everything low-key in case Vasily Karpov found out (which he did, eventually). The new era, and finding her again, he'd taken it all as an opportunity to show her how much he cared, what he'd denied her in the beginning.

But how could he, without offending her?

He had no idea how much she'd changed in the intervening years.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Kissing**


	9. Yours and Mine

**IX**

**Yours and Mine**

* * *

James and Natasha, when they argued, rarely agreed on anything.

In this case though, they both agreed that it was Natasha who started it.

It was shaping up to be a long winter that year. When Natasha finally decided that she'd better get out of the shower before the hot water ran out, she slipped out but remained in the relative warmth of the bathroom; James was out running as he always did every single morning when at home. He and Steve both did this: rain, snow, sun, weather didn't matter. Natasha went with them occasionally, only if Sharon was going too. But neither woman was crazy, so Natasha was here at home deliberating what to wear.

She ended up settling on sweats, fuzzy socks, and James's large long-sleeved shirt and his sweater. Both articles of James's clothes disappeared into her dresser when she realized how comfortable they were.

Her wool scarf mysteriously disappeared the next day.

She waited until right before she went to bed to take his knit hat.

Her gloves vanished before she woke up.

His jeans went into the bottom drawer in the kitchenette, right where she knew he would never go because he had no reason.

His boots disappeared before she could get to them, so she took his sneakers instead.

Her sweats managed to disappear _after_ she'd gotten up and showered; she came out of the bathroom, sopping wet, to find that _all_ of her sweatpants had vanished in the _ten freaking minutes_ she'd been gone. Snarling softly to herself, she moved to the living room, keeping the towel tight around herself as she scanned the room for any trace of her thieving boyfriend.

To add injury to insult, he left the damn window open. In the middle of _January_.

"Okay, hotshot. You want to play _that_ game?" she growled as she walked over, bracing herself against the cold as she awkwardly shut the window, grimacing as she stepped in damp carpet while she latched the damn thing.

She knew her plan worked; James let out a yelp and there was a glorious _thud_ as he jumped off the bed as the packed snow made contact with the bottom of his feet, soaking his socks. She also jerked 'awake', to keep him off the trail, but only found him cursing as he pulled his socks off. "I'm going back to bed," was all she said before turning over again.

She thought she got away with it.

But her socks, _all_ of them, were gone the next morning, after James left on his run. When she checked his dresser, she found to her dismay that his socks had already vanished before she could get to them.

They both conceded defeat on the same day, by accident. James couldn't wear some of her things since they were naturally smaller, but she was pretty comfortable in his.

"Admit defeat, and I might consider returning your things," she said, raising an eyebrow as he stood in front of her, wearing the only clothes he'd managed to squirrel away or otherwise hide from her.

"Never," he replied, smirking slightly.

Natasha merely spread her hands and smiled. Let the game continue then, she could play all winter if he wanted to.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Wearing each other's clothes**


	10. Undercover

**X**

**Undercover**

* * *

James knew full well that if the mission went wrong today, it would backfire badly on Steve, not him. Luckily, Steve knew that too.

Even so, even with the knowledge of his friend's permission to do this, James felt _very_ conspicuous wearing the Captain America colors, carefully tailored to look like a costume. Natasha of course was wearing her own outfit, pleased that she didn't have to do much for this mission in way of disguise.

The target in question sold state secrets cleverly disguised as fan art, and always conducted business at fan conventions such as this one. So far, Natasha and James had been stopped several times by other individuals dressed in the costumes of the other Avengers for group photos, and there had even been a pack of teens dressed as the self-dubbed 'Young Avengers'. It was disconcerting, honestly, to see different, sometimes _very _revealing, variations of the Black Widow costume on other girls though, and James kept close to Natasha to send the clear message that she wasn't alone.

That still didn't stop other convention goers, one of whom complained that Natasha's costume covered up too much. She'd politely asked if his entire day was ruined because of that, and he'd said yes. Instead of doing whatever it was that he hoped her to do next, she merely smiled, and said, "I believe my work here is done. Have a nice day." Then she'd kept walking.

Even more awkward had to be the Avenger fan atmosphere. Costumes (or lack of) aside, James caught snatches of conversations about 'ships' and 'OTPs' and 'Tumblr', which all came up several times. Two girls were bickering about 'ships' as he and Natasha walked by, and it only occurred to him about _what_ 'ships' were in that particular context when a pair of teens asked for a photograph of him and Natasha together, and were rather… giggly about the whole thing.

He waited until the girls had moved away before he turned to Natasha. "What was that all about?" he asked warily.

"Something that Fury has been suing popular blogging sites for years about, ever since New York happened. Just ignore it, and move on," she said curtly.

" 'Ships'?" he repeated, hoping that whatever the assumption he'd come to was incorrect.

"Like I said, Fury's been suing websites for it. PR's got their hands full with maintaining S.H.I.E.L.D.'s good relationship with the press while somehow handling Fury's suing spree," she whispered back. "It's not threatening the state of the world, so it's nothing you have to worry about. It's just another aspect of the fan world, such as the cosplaying and the fan art, which is what the seller we're _supposed_ to be looking for does as a hobby."

"Cosplay?"

"When you dress up as someone you're not, and you're doing it for fun. After New York, we attracted enough fans in order to be the next 'thing'. Fury's already threatened to sue movie studios that attempt to make films based off this, and given how he's acting towards websites, no one has quite dared yet. He claims is that it's because it's distracting for us, but I think he doesn't want to be responsible for anyone who gets targeted by villains just because they claimed to be one of us," Natasha replied, rolling her eyes. "But let's go, we still have to find that man."

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Cosplaying**


	11. Run

**XI**

**Run**

* * *

Natasha was faster than James that morning.

"_Nice try_," she said, catching the back of his shirt just as he was about to make a break for it out the fire escape. "I need help today, you're going to be next after I get the gown I need."

"Nope, I told Fury that I would be delighted to assist with security detail. From the roof. Where I don't need a tux," James said as she dragged him from the windowsill and toward the apartment door. She'd waited on purpose to go shopping on the day he wore his favorite jacket, so she could pull on it and he would go without a fuss as to not ruin the material. "Besides, I thought you hated shopping," he said, clearly in a last ditch effort to get out of going.

"Yes, well, this is for a mission. And S.H.I.E.L.D. is footing the bill, so let's go," Natasha said, keeping a firm grip on his jacket collar.

James tried once to fight, grabbing onto the doorframe and holding onto it, but a tug on his jacket reminded him of the dangers of resisting.

As it turned out though, when they got to the department store at the nearest mall, they found out James wasn't the only soul suffering.

Steve Rogers was fighting to stay awake, sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the fitting rooms. Surrounded by shopping bags, he nodded in tired greeting to James as he and Natasha walked in. "Sharon here?" Natasha asked, pausing with the few gowns she had to try on.

Steve nodded toward the nearest fitting room. "Another one of her cousins is getting married in two weeks, she couldn't get out of it before the RSVP date," he said, shrugging with one shoulder as James sat down next to him.

"How many cousins does she have?" Natasha asked, frowning. "Didn't another get married three weeks ago?"

"My mom has four sisters, all of whom have two to four kids each. Do the math," Sharon's muffled voice said from the other side of the door. "Ever since Erin caught me wearing the same dress to several family functions, she will not tolerate me at family gatherings and I do want to see some of the nicer cousins."

"I do not envy you, my dear," Natasha said before disappearing into her fitting room. "James, I'll need your opinion in a moment."

She and Sharon inevitably got distracted, chatting about previous missions that had involved getting dressed up for. They both agreed that the favorite part in the preparation had to be dressing up the significant others that would be attending, although Steve and Sharon were getting paired together more frequently since their engagement. They were just discussing what tuxedo or dinner suit would look good on James for Steve's and Sharon's wedding when it occurred to Natasha that it was very, _very_ quiet outside the doors.

"Sharon?"

"Yes?"

"Please tell me they didn't."

Sharon was quiet for a moment, and then Natasha heard the creaking of the wooden door as Sharon looked outside.

"They did," she said finally, sighing as she went back into the little room and shut the door again. "Shall we find them?"

"Let me finish this first, mission prep takes priority," Natasha replied as she stepped out of her little room. "Now what do you think of this one?"

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Shopping**


	12. Beach

**XII**

**Beach**

* * *

James had forgotten how much he enjoyed leave.

While still working for the Red Room, breaks consisted of sleep and food. And Natasha, once their relationship got to that point. Recreation consisted of harassing and outright tormenting the other students (something Menshikov always complained about because the students were often times _too_ obedient after). He could only remember very little about his military years before that, and had relied on Steve to tell him what they'd done on leave.

But he didn't have to worry about that now.

Leave time was included as a part of the hazard pay for working in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Special Operations department. Natasha dragged him out on the first opportunity, after three solid years of no vacation time.

The Miami beaches were crowded, but it allowed the Avengers team to slip in unnoticed. He and Steve were helping Clint rein in an uncontrollable two-year-old (_way_ easier said than done), while Betty coaxed Bruce into the water (both were wearing hats and sunglasses, preferring _not_ to get mobbed by the press) nearby. Natasha, Bobbi, Sharon, and Pepper meanwhile had disappeared a little while before, some vague explanation about volleyball and an owed debt to the men who insulted them in the parking lot (something else James couldn't confirm, seeing as he wasn't there when the alleged insults occurred). Steve managed to extract a promise from Sharon that the four of them wouldn't completely kill (figuratively _and_ literally) the men in question. James started to, but Natasha assured him that she wouldn't kill anyone since the resulting paperwork wasn't worth it.

"Francis, _come on already_!" Clint nearly yelled as Francis, a chubby toddler, giggled and turned around to continue running farther into the water. "One mention of sunscreen and he's gone," the archer grumbled before taking off after the kid. James grinned before plunging into the water after him.

After twenty minutes of chasing and corralling Francis so Clint could catch him, James followed Steve out of the water and toward the volleyball court. Steve had expressed worry about the four women and the legal liabilities that came with extracting revenge or whatever it was they were planning to do.

James hoped they wouldn't have to get lawyers.

As it turned out though, all his fears were unnecessary.

The four women were waiting patiently on their side of the court while a group of men stood in a huddle on the other side of the net. A large group of spectators surrounded the court, some people exchanging money while others conferred with each other. James sidled up to Natasha and, after placing a hand on her shoulder, accepted the kiss she offered. "What's going on?" he asked, watching the men with interest.

"They're deciding if losing to us a sixth time is really worth the effort," Pepper said, sighing as though she was dealing with Stark instead. "They won the first two, but we've beaten them since."

"Hopefully they'll go for it, I'm up for another round," Natasha said grimly.

"So long as I'm not in front next time, the catcalling is starting to annoy me," Sharon replied, scowling as one of the men glanced back at them.

"Let me, I've got a mean spike," Bobbi said. She glanced at Natasha and asked, "Are you game to switch?"

"Why not? I've been trying to figure out if I can hit Baldy back there and make it look like an accident. Excuse me James, they're ready to lose again," Natasha said, ducking underneath James's arm and joining the others on the court.

James wandered back to where Steve was waiting. "I assume they have things well in hand?" he asked as James moved to stand next to him.

James nodded as the volley for the serve began. "Yeah, they're all set."

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Hanging out with friends**


	13. Pride

**XIII**

**Pride**

* * *

"James, what is this?"

"Hang on a sec, still in the shower."

Natasha stared at the photograph in her hand. The two of them were in Las Vegas for a mission, had finished early, and apparently went out to celebrate, if the photo was any indication.

At least they didn't rob a casino, like James had mentioned that he wanted to do during the flight over. Yet.

"All right, what is it that you wanted me to look at?" he asked, coming out of the shower in their hotel bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Leaning over Natasha's shoulder, he was quiet as he studied the photograph. "_That_ is a picture. You see, when-"

"Oh, shut up. I know what a picture is, I wanted to know what the hell we were doing when it was taken."

James coughed as though to cover up a laugh. "Fury's PR team is going to get a workout with this. You and I had a little too much to drink, I swear half of it was mixed, and I suppose we got a little _too_ into the festivities," he said, nodding to the photo. "At least I got the tiger ears, the black cat ears go well with your hair-"

"_James,_ focus! How the hell did we even get into this mess to begin with?" Natasha demanded, already pulling her laptop toward her. "We'll be the laughingstock of the _entire_ community…"

"Please tell me it's your fearsome reputation toward the villains that you're worried about, I don't know what to do otherwise," James teased before grunting; Natasha, still wearing her flats, had stepped on his foot to make a point. "Think of it this way to convince your enemies that you're actually quite harmless compared to their original perceptions, giving you the advantage over them."

"That doesn't help. How do we find all the copies and destroy them?"

"Nat, that's a paper copy. I think it might be safe to assume that there aren't as many copies as you think there are," James said, running a tired hand through his hair. Leaning over her shoulder again, he added, "Although, you could also pass that off as a college party, we both look young enough to pull it off and there's no indication that it's in Las Vegas. The point is that I think you're worrying too much about it. And if I'm wrong, feel free to shoot me."

"Really?"

"Steve might not like you for it, and I might haunt you for the rest of your life, but I'm that confident that you're panicking over nothing," James said, taking the photo from her. The two of them were in party outfits, wearing animal ears that matched their clothes. James wished he could fully remember what had happened the night before, but at the same time, was glad to experience a hangover again. He wouldn't have thought it would be something he would miss, but at the same time, it reminded him that he was also human, not whatever it was that the Soviets crafted him into.

"Well, sweep yourself for any bugs or potential problems. We can rob your damn casino tonight, I'm going to be angry for the rest of the evening otherwise," Natasha said, snatching the photograph from him and nearly slamming it down on the table.

James didn't question, just hurried back to the bathroom to get ready.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: With animal ears.**


	14. Suit

**XIV**

**Suit**

* * *

"I look completely ridiculous."

"Shut up. You wanted to rob a casino. Well, we're robbing a casino and your moaning and groaning is going to get us caught." She could hear him smirking in the ensuing silence, and knew that she was about to regret her choice of words.

"I don't know," he said finally, pausing in the rappelling to let her pass him as they'd agreed before starting this crazy, half-baked plan of his. "Usually, you never complain about my 'moaning and groaning'," he said, playfully bumping noses with her as she passed him.

"Shut up," she muttered, forcing herself to look down and focus on what she was doing rather than acknowledging his words; the two were using stolen animal costumes (same ones they apparently stole for the party from which the infamous animal ears picture came from. The costumes had been the ticket in as they pretended to be entertainers), but no masks (the freaking animal ears was quite enough). Not that James was concerned about security cameras; he had a gadget in his cybernetic arm that subtly disrupted the broadcast signal, making him and a three-foot radius circle invisible to any kind of camera. Hence the reason that Natasha had to stay close to him as they carefully made their way down.

"Fury won't hear about this, right?"

"It's a risky gamble to assume that the casino won't complain, they don't want to lose business. Fury has a tendency to blow things out of proportion when something 'domestic', as he calls it, interrupts his work," Natasha replied. "Then, even if he did hear about it, he'd have to pin it to us, but will be tricky since the casino has no footage of us actually entering the place."

"You're welcome."

She made a face. "That also means you won't have any evidence of me in this damn cat suit," she said.

She _almost_ heard the unsaid thought, but was grateful that he'd chosen to keep his mouth shut for once. "If it's any comfort, while you look cute in that cat suit, I can't wait to take it off of you later," he said, and she could hear the grin on his face.

"James, do you want your money or not?"

"I'm just showing these fat cats that I can get through any security system. And take enough to make a point."

Natasha smiled to herself. Animal suits, breaking into the casinos, the Red Room would have something of an aneurism if they knew their prize assassins were robbing a Las Vegas casino.

James had worn a tiger suit. Still had it on, in fact. Natasha was worried that he would get too attached to the suit, and then insist on bringing back to New York. There was no way in hell she was bringing the cat suit, that was going to be _burned_ the second she could do it.

"Nat? I can't go any farther down without you moving or you'll be exposed."

She looked down, smiled softly at James in his ridiculous tiger suit, and then began moving again.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Wearing kigurumis**


	15. Privacy

**XV**

**Privacy**

* * *

James made sure the door was locked before they started anything.

"Prior experience?" Natasha asked as he pulled her down onto the couch after him.

"More like Steve's, he says that Commander Hill walked in on him and it was supremely awkward," James said, shrugging before capturing her lips. "But none of that now, we're in our apartment and there's no one coming."

"Then _shush_ already."

Resting her head on his chest, she listened to his steady and reassuring heartbeat before he tugged gently on her shoulders for her attention. She leaned down and kissed him softly, running her hands underneath his shirt as though to confirm that he was still there, that this wasn't another figment of a lonely imagination.

He grunted, his hands reaching to meet hers through the fabric around his ribs. "Still ticklish," he complained before nuzzling underneath her jaw, kissing the skin lightly. "All right, hold on tight," he whispered in Russian, kissing her temple.

Allowing herself a grin, she braced herself right as he easily turned her over on the couch, so that she was below him now. "Still got it," he teased before accepting her kiss.

Natasha mentally made herself relax as she accepted his gentle ministrations; his hands were hovering near the hem of her shirt, but didn't go any farther. It had been years since the two of them had been like this, and it was hard to let go without fear of the Red Room discovering the two of them. Even as she started working James's T-shirt up his body, separating from him long enough to pull it over his head, she still expected someone to come through the door with his or her stun guns set and ready to fire.

"Relax, little Natalia," James whispered in Russian, gently brushing some of her bangs out of her face. "No one is coming for us anymore, you don't have to hide anymore."

"I know, but after years of hiding and guarding, it's hard," she whispered back, feeling momentarily like the young adult she once was, all those years ago. She ran her fingertips down the side of his face, and then whispered, "I keep expecting you to disappear like you always did."

James leaned forward and kissed her slowly, her hands reaching up to frame his face and she held him close. "I swear I'm not going anywhere, Natalia. Even a buzz plane bomb couldn't take me out for good, and I assure you that I won't be going near any of those any time soon," he whispered, his breath warm against the skin on the side of her face as he leaned in close. "Karpov is dead, he can hurt us only so long as we let him. But other than that, he can't reach us anymore."

Then, as though to emphasize his point, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, temporarily sweeping away all of her fears.

For now.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Making out**


	16. Mess

**XVI**

**Mess**

* * *

"James, what are you doing?"

"Working." James tilted his head to catch a stray drip of mint ice cream that was dripping down the cone. The two were in a park in Berlin, waiting for the Hydra scientist to appear. "You?"

"_Really_ working." Natasha was scanning the park for the scientist, who was supposed to be visiting the park that day with his children. The teams at S.H.I.E.L.D. could never figure out whether he had two sons or two daughters or four children, but he always appeared at the park with two. Both were identical down to the last freckle, and Fury suspected foul play. The scientist was theoretically retired, quietly living in Berlin and staying out of trouble, but one never knew when it came to Hydra.

"No offense Talia, but you're sticking out like a sore thumb," he replied, using a nickname that she'd made quite clear that she hated. "Sometimes blending in means that you have to pretend you're just killing time. Or relaxing. Or eating ice cream," he said, holding his up for emphasis.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Mint?" she asked.

James shrugged. "It was Menshikov's favorite, so that's all he'd have in the office. I remember using the amount of ice cream on his desk as a gauge for his mood. A little ice cream meant he was on a roll with his classes and had sufficient control over the other instructors, a ton meant that Stalyenko was driving him up the wall again. He said it was because he wasn't allowed to drink and he needed a coping mechanism. Now that I think back on it, I think he was just giving the finger to Karpov, you remember how fastidiously _neat_ the man was," he said, offering the cone to Natasha, who sighed and took it.

She glanced back at him, and then said, "Did you turn five years old or something? You have ice cream all over your face."

"I do?" Instead of wiping it off, he instead smeared it around even more, getting all over his face _and_ hand. "How about now?"

She made a face. "Here," she said, pulling out a few loose tissues from a pocket. "Use this to wipe your face."

Grinning, he took the tissue with the ice cream hand, taking care to cover hers with what ice cream he could. Rolling her eyes at his maturity, she used another napkin to wipe off her hand while he made a half-hearted attempt to clean his face. Then he said, "Natasha?"

"Yes?" she replied, looking up.

Right as he leaned in and kissed her.

At first, she relaxed in the kiss, tasting mint ice cream and hints of chocolate from the chips. Then she realized his real plan a second too late as he wrapped a hand around her head and gently pressed her face against his.

"James!" she shouted, laughing as he pulled away with a huge grin. "Damn it James, what was that for? How old are you again?" she teased.

"Beats me. Besides, growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional," he said, winking as she began to clean the ice cream from her face.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Eating ice cream**


	17. Switched

**XVII**

**Switched**

* * *

James knew something was horribly wrong the second he woke up.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was the Hydra scientist ambushing the two of them in his basement, where he was most definitively _not_ enjoying the quiet life he'd assured Fury he was leading. In the brief glimpse of the basement he did see, he remembered what looked like a makeshift lab.

Although, now that he was waking up, he felt his gut twist in horror at the realization that he was in the _middle_ of the makeshift lab.

He checked his arms and found that 1) his artificial limb was missing, 2) his flesh wrist and ankles were tied down and 3) there was a strange, redheaded man still asleep on the lab table next to him. If James strained, he could touch the stranger's fingertips with his own.

"Wakey, wakey…"

James stiffened when the half-crazed scientist slithered into view, looking extremely pleased with himself. "And how did you sleep?" he inquired mockingly.

"Second I'm out of here, you're dead," James promised, tensing his shoulders for a fight. Something felt off, but he put that down to the fact that his artificial arm was missing.

"Oh, don't you want your arm back first? I had to modify it a little, since you wouldn't have been able to support its weight. Not because you're weak, far from it. You've been lying there for a few days, your muscles might be a little unused to the strain of handling that arm. Speaking of which, I'll never know how you manage to use it, I had a smidge of a difficult time handling it myself," the scientist said, moving over to a worktable. "At least I was nice about it…"

"Who the hell are you anyway?" James snapped, a little tired of the man's yammering. "And what did you do to us?"

"Nothing my dear brother can't fix," the scientist said, smirking now. "You see, my dear Winter Soldier, he is just as easy to play as Fury is. And you too, apparently."

James could only stare at him. "Who the hell _are_ you?" he repeated dumbly.

The scientist turned, smirking as there was a rippling of a hazy image. James almost swore when Loki, the God of Mischief, stood there in the scientist's place. "It was all too easy. I just had to reel you in, and then that was that," Loki said, tapping the console with his scepter; James nearly got sick when he saw a photograph of the scientist and his two daughters. "I didn't kill them, if that's what you're wondering," Loki added, as though reading James's face. "The father died on his own, the two girls haven't been back in years. It's Fury's lack of vigilance that allowed the man to die unnoticed."

"So why capture us?"

"Because I spent almost two decades escaping from Asgard, and felt like punishing someone for the trouble I had to go through," Loki replied serenely. He glanced at the wall clock, and then said, "The restraints will disappear in a few minutes, but the charm, well, that's a little more permanent." Nodding toward James, he added, "At least you can keep your name, there are plenty of girls with the name 'James'."

_What? 'Plenty of girls with the name-'_

_Oh, hell no, he didn't._

Before James could curse him out, Loki chuckled before disappearing completely. He was about to start swearing again when there was a soft groan next to him. Turning to see Natasha, James knew that hell hadn't even arrived yet, as it was still waking up.

"James? What the hell happen-"

"Nat, look at me."

Silence, and then, "I am going to murder someone."

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Genderswapped**

**Hopefully this wasn't too cracky. I was actually proud to have a semi-logical plot for this one.**


	18. Mix Up

**XVIII**

**Mix Up**

* * *

It was hard to tell who was panicking more.

"All right, first things first. We need to either switch clothes, or get new ones," Natasha said, still adjusting to the difference in height and build. James just looked downright pissed off, clutching his clothes to his body – Natasha wasn't going to fuss over personal pronouns in her head, they had bigger problems at the moment.

She gritted her teeth and then the two of them set down to work.

Thirty minutes later of switching clothes and cursing Loki, James all but bolted from the basement lab, Natasha following close behind with the artificial limb; the real one that is, not Loki's modification. James refused to even _go _near Loki's modification, said something about unholy witchcraft and wanting a _normal_ mission where there weren't any angry gods or werewolves (Natasha didn't know where _that_ one came from). James apparently would have settled for the crazy Hydra scientist, but now they were stuck like this until they could get Thor's help in reversing the curse.

Natasha was wearing James's outfit, which fit better than they both thought it would. Her suit however was a little loose on James's thin frame, doing nothing to bolster his already flagging confidence in the whole matter.

"Once this is done, we pretend it never happened. This entire mission didn't happen," James was whispering furiously as they returned to their hotel in Berlin, ducking down so that the receptionist (who had been flirting with him just two days ago) didn't see him.

"At least S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't monitoring us this time, it's going to be hard enough to explain to Thor as it is," Natasha agreed.

"Actually, if S.H.I.E.L.D. had been monitoring us, we wouldn't have had to explain _anything_ because they would _already_ know. The flip side is that if one person knows, then everyone else does too," James said, jamming a finger against the elevator button that would take the two of them to their floor. Glancing down at the suit, he asked, "Do you usually feel comfortable wearing this?"

"Yes."

"Is this even leather?"

"No, just designed to look that way. I'm supposed to be attractive to male targets, remember? Besides, how the hell would I move if that were actual leather? I'm a secret agent, I need to be able to _move_," Natasha said crossly, hating how deep her voice was. It sounded wrong to her ears.

"Well, none of this is going to be a secret once we tell Thor, I just hope we can get this mess sorted out before Steve hears about this. _I'll_ never hear the end of it," James said, angrily stuffing his keycard into the slot. "I'm mad that Loki managed to get the drop on us, I still don't have a reaction to the changes because I'm still in shock."

"You and me both, but if we're going to get this dealt with, someone is going to have to know unless you know a way to keep Thor from talking," Natasha warned as James shouldered the door open.

James smirked. "An easy two words. Pop. Tarts," he said before heading back into their hotel room, Natasha close behind.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Different clothing style**


	19. Sunshine

**XIX**

**Sunshine**

* * *

James was in a good mood that morning.

Thor had been able to rectify Loki's magic without bribery, no one else knew of the incident, and the two of them were back in New York on a week's leave before Fury summoned them again… assuming he needed him, he had plenty of other Avengers at his beck and call.

It was strange, how he and Natasha could easily move in and out of each other's routines depending on who was home at the time. Perhaps it was instinctual practice from when the two of them couldn't maintain a routine back at the Red Room; routines would have gotten them caught faster than what actually happened.

Every morning at exactly five thirty, James rolled out of bed and got his jogging clothes; rain, snow, wind, sun it didn't matter. Then he'd quietly leave the apartment and jog to the corner of the block, where he'd meet Steve at six.

Natasha got out of bed around half an hour after James did. For as long as she'd known him, even as far back as their Red Room days, he always left first. At first, it was because he didn't want to be caught in the same bed with her, something that they would have been punished for. Then it was because he'd had a series of missions that had early departures.

After that, it was ingrained habit.

James usually came back home to the apartment at the exact time, give or take a few minutes, that Natasha finished her shower, totaling for an hour's run. He went into the shower while Natasha got dressed and then began making breakfast, stumbling out not too long after the food was done. All in all, it usually worked.

There were a few exceptions however.

Whenever the other was off on a solo mission or without the other in a group mission meant that the remaining partner had to remember not to fret or cook too much to eat. James once accidentally went without breakfast for several days because he forgot that Natasha was gone. Natasha once searched an entire series of city blocks looking for both James _and_ Steve, when the latter proved to be gone as well. She ended up calling Sharon, waking up the other woman by accident; Sharon had taken advantage of Steve's absence, and by extension his alarm clock, to get more sleep before dragging herself out of bed. A terse reminder was all it took for Natasha to remember the next time around.

On missions, when it was just the two of them, it was simple. One stayed up on guard while the other slept, the alarm clock helping differentiate the night watch shifts (although James didn't even trust that anymore, not since Natasha turned his off once so that he could get more sleep).

They had a system, and it worked. No questions necessary.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: During their morning ritual(s)**


	20. Quiet

**XX**

**Quiet**

* * *

James had fallen asleep a little while ago, but Natasha remained still and content in his embrace as they lay on the couch, her back against his chest.

They never had a set decision on who was the big spoon or the little spoon, they just settled in however they felt comfortable. James usually preferred the big spoon; the position allowed him to move quickly in the event of an attack without the quiet stress of worrying whether the person holding him would hold him back in an assassination attempt. He felt too claustrophobic sometimes as the little spoon, and Natasha humored him, especially when all she wanted to do was curl up on the damn couch without his constant fidgeting.

He didn't tell her his reasons for wanting the outer position more often.

The back was the most vulnerable part of the body; it was defenseless since the owner couldn't defend it, there would be no way to see the attack coming. There was a reason why the phrase 'stabbed in the back' was synonymous with deep-rooted betrayal; the victim never saw it coming and it hurt greatly. After everything he ever put Natasha through, both intentionally and unintentionally, he didn't want her to hurt again. He'd grown numb to that sort of pain by now, and while she was a beautiful, strong woman, a survivor of the horrors of the Red Room, sometimes, he still saw her as the young woman that he'd met all those years ago.

Unbeknownst to him, Natasha was well aware of where his hand rested. One reason she preferred the little spoon was because for one, she fit easily in his arms while it was a tad tricky vice versa given his broad frame and her slimmer one. Not to mention the constant fidgeting. That had to be her biggest issue. She remembered threatening to push him off the couch once because of the fidgeting, back when he still carried the Winter Soldier moniker. He fidgeted a lot less nowadays, but she knew full well that old habits were hard ones to break. It was when he was completely stressed out that he allowed her to hold him instead of the other way around.

She didn't tell him her reasons for wanting the inner position more often.

They both always wore armor on the front lines, James taking the extra step of fireproof leggings and shirts along with fire resistant boots. While useless in an explosion, similar to one that took his arm and life that day in the North Atlantic, it was an attempt to keep his remaining limbs intact. Natasha meanwhile had stolen the few shirts he had once, while he was on leave. She had sewn in lightweight yet sturdy thick leather-like covering over James's heart and back for stray bullets, the same material on her jumpsuits. He could worry about the worst-case scenario all he wanted, but all it would take to bring him down would be a bullet, knowing his luck. But as the 'little spoon', she could guard him with her own body, knowing full well that if they did in fact have an intruder, the gunman would shoot at the first target. That would buy James a little more time to perhaps defend himself and then save her. She trusted him to do that.

Maybe not the best of logic, but it worked for her anyway.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Spooning**


	21. Babysit

**XXI**

**Babysit**

* * *

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"How much are we getting paid for this again?" James said finally.

"Nothing, we're doing it because I owed Clint," Natasha said, not moving. "Old debt from 2000, we were in India and I was almost killed. I'm almost done repaying him." She tilted her head, and then said, "Although, I don't know if this is what he had in mind when it came to repaying said debt."

Little Francis Barton giggled, watching the two agents that were supposed to watch him for the next seven days while his parents went to Mexico to investigate a S.H.I.E.L.D. operation that had snafued last week. It was Bobbi's first mission since Francis's birth, and Clint had had to pry her away in order to catch their flight.

"Well, it's just a two year old. How much trouble can that be?" James asked, rolling his sleeves up; he was using the mini-hologram projector to make it appear as though he had a flesh arm, as to not frighten Francis. "Let's do this."

Natasha made a mental note to shoot him later if he jinxed them.

Of course, by the end of the first day, she was too tired to shoot him.

Watching Francis turned into a weird tag-teaming event, since he _couldn't sit still_. He always got into trouble literally the _second_ either James or Natasha took an eye off of him.

"He is two. He shouldn't be able to get into _that_ much trouble," James complained; the two were sprawled all over the couch, the TV muted. "I mean, how do you get applesauce on your _back_?"

"Easy. Do what he did and splatter it around first, get some on the back of the chair, and then bounce in your seat for two hours straight," Natasha said, curling up and nursing a new bruise where she'd bumped her arm against the crib when trying to put Francis down for bed.

"Can you believe we have six more days of this?"

Natasha glanced at James, who seemed content to stare at the ceiling. She tried to gauge his tone, trying to guess his intentions. Was that his (too) subtle way of hinting that he'd like children of his own? They'd already discussed this; their jobs and her infertility rendered this impossible, but given that someone already knew how to bring people back from the dead, chances were likely that there was a way to have children after all. "James?" she asked after a slightly long silence.

A soft snore was her response. Straightening, she found that he'd fallen asleep, one hand resting on his chest, another still in the air while lying on the back of the couch. He'd slung both feet over the armrest of the couch, and his head was at an odd angle, mouth hanging open.

Despite the fact that the position looked extremely uncomfortable, Natasha also found it strangely endearing. Sighing, she muted the television before standing up and setting the remote off to the side. Then she walked over to James and _carefully_ nudged him into a better sleeping position, mindful of the mechanical arm (it only took one hit to get the lesson across, James was never one to hold back when he thought he was being threatened), and, once she was satisfied, she eased herself into the embrace, tucking his arm around her body for comfort.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Doing something together.**


	22. Night

**XXII**

**Night**

* * *

Tony Stark, when he had a party, _never_ made it a small time affair.

Like now.

Since most of the Avengers were out of the city for various reasons, Natasha bit the bullet and dragged James to it. She'd made him dress in his military uniform, although she was pretty sure he'd sneaked half of the medals off so he wouldn't make so much noise. Not that anyone would be able to tell, given the volume of chatter around the two of them.

She was wearing the blue gown she'd used on that one mission, the one that when she went shopping for the dress, she and Sharon ended up chasing their significant others all over the damn mall. A few pieces of carefully selected jewelry, and she looked as much a member of the American elite class as the next woman.

"Where's the dancing?" James muttered under his breath, warily scanning the packed ballroom.

"I suspect this is more of a mingling affair if anything else," Natasha mildly replied as she sipped her champagne. She remembered the one time that Tony had dragged her to some fundraising event, just because Pepper was sick, he needed watching anyway, and he wanted a date that he knew wouldn't try to kill him or ask for a night after said event. She'd been bored to death, since all Tony actually did was _mingle_, and there was nothing to do with mingling except smile and make small talk.

She could do that with a target. Not with an actual social event.

"Can't we leave? I can't handle this much longer," she muttered under her breath to James, who sighed.

"At least you weren't at those parties Steve and I went to during our leave during World War Two. Not only did we have to be social, but we occasionally had to make a very good impression on the higher-ups that went as well. I think I remember faking sick once just to get out of dancing because Toro wanted to go exploring the lower levels of London, and at seventeen, that was sometimes much more appealing than dancing with dolled up strangers who hung off your arm and wouldn't let go even when it was time to go back to camp," James said, making a face.

"And here I thought you were always after the girls, you certainly have the looks," Natasha said, half-teasing as she nudged him with an elbow. Frankly, she was too old to be getting jealous of women she would never meet and most likely have died already, but the sting was still there in her gut.

"It's all fun and games until they start asking for things you can't give them," he said quietly, already lost to a time that Natasha had never known.

"Such as what?" she gently probed.

"Marriage. No secrets. Complete and unwavering loyalty." James shook his head. "My identity during the war was a secret, I saw things that Command would have pitched a fit over if I'd talked about them. I couldn't promise marriage because I'd have to wait until the end of the war, and I didn't know when that would be or if I would even survive."

"Well, luckily for you, we don't have to worry about that," Natasha said, slipping her arm into his.

She missed the contemplative look that briefly crossed his face.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: In formal wear.**


	23. Dance

**XXIII**

**Dance**

* * *

Moscow glittered in the night, but James still felt ill at ease. Even though he was an honored guest at the wedding, he doubted that the bride and groom, old friends of Natasha's from after she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., were aware of his checkered past with the city. From the terrace of the venue, an old theater where he'd once (attempted anyway) assassinated a Russian politician, he could count at least ten other buildings in which he'd conducted Karpov's dirty work from where he was standing.

"James."

He turned to find Natasha waiting. "Dance?" she offered, nodding toward the slowly filling dance floor.

He nodded, well aware that as maid of honor, she was expected to join the others out on the dance floor. Taking her hand, he said, "Although I believe that should be my line, I accept your offer, Ms. Romanov."

"Mr. Barnes, you flatter me," she teased, smiling as the two of them headed out to the floor.

He smiled and bumped noses with her playfully, easily adopting the Western style of dance; they'd agreed beforehand that they would present him as the American Natasha had met while overseas. So while he could have kept up with the others in the traditional dances, he had to keep the illusion of the ignorant American, playing up the stereotypes that the other guests were expecting. It was actually rather entertaining.

The two of them didn't do anything fancy, he just wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder, just letting him sway them lightly; he wasn't in the mood for anything more than just being close to her. It was a luxury he hadn't been allowed while still serving in the Red Room, lest someone, an enemy or Karpov's minion, notice this and use it against them. Closing his eyes, he silently relaxed, smiling softly as he entertained the thought that the two of them were at their own wedding.

He knew Natasha would never go for it, but privately, he wanted to reduce the amount of worries she'd have if he were ever killed in action. In short, even though she would not be fond of the idea that she needed to be cared for, he wanted to make sure she would be taken care of after he was gone.

He knew he couldn't push his luck forever. Resurrecting after the train in the Alps was probably going to be his best and only comeback from the dead, and luck had been on his side then when the Russians came through, months after sacking Berlin.

His luck couldn't hold out forever. He knew this, Natasha knew this, but they kept going on as they were, taking chance after chance. He didn't know what stuff the Red Room had injected into him; S.H.I.E.L.D. was still analyzing his blood years after he was rescued, but he didn't know if it could hold him out forever like the serum seemed to be doing to Steve.

"Stop thinking please, you're bumming _me_ out," Natasha grumbled, unknowingly bringing a smile to his lips.

He just held her closer, and just kept dancing to the tune that only the two of them could hear.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Dancing**


	24. Kitchen

**XXIV**

**Kitchen**

* * *

Between the two of them, James liked to cook, but Natasha was better at it.

She needed it for disguises when working, a woman who couldn't cook well was often not invited back again or could not invite the target back again due to bad food. She'd been able to perfect her style over the years, forced to by necessity through all types of cuisines. Her training and medical enhancements meant she had no food allergies to worry about, something that could be fatal in a mission so Fury wouldn't have allowed her in that line of service if she did have something.

Besides, once he was rescued, James turned out to be a picky eater. She wondered if that was another aspect that Karpov used mind control to 'cure'. She'd learned that one the hard way, when James kept picking at his food and eating certain bits and leaving the rest. Then she'd catch him snacking before or after dinner. She didn't understand at the time, when it was her turn to cook she'd serve dishes she knew he'd had before and ate without complaint.

The two switched off in the kitchen when they were both home at the same time.

James had had to learn on the fly. As the Winter Soldier, he'd neither had the time nor inclination toward domestic tasks such as cooking. As James Barnes though, he was a goner if he couldn't cook because Natasha, no matter how much she loved him, wasn't going to cook _every night_ for the two of them. It wasn't until he started that he found it to be relaxing and even entertaining, especially when making his own concoctions. His first experiments, conducted when Natasha was out of the house for a mission or get-together of some kind, ended in disaster where appliances or the random cloth item in the kitchen caught fire.

He paid the fire department well for their silence toward Natasha.

Unlike Natasha, who often times relied on the Internet or the random cookbook for dinner ideas, he often brought home recipes from the last place he'd visited. One time, he ended up bringing home the dish itself in hopes of being able to reverse engineer the thing and figure out what exactly was in it. His replication was actually better than the original, but he was half sure that was the case because he did cheat and use a few different ingredients for the ones he couldn't figure out.

And _damn,_ did he hate it when someone snuck in cayenne pepper without warning him first or when the recipe didn't call for it.

"What are you making now?" Natasha asked, drifting into the kitchen to peer over his shoulder where he was kneeling, measuring something out in the measuring cup.

"Dinner," he replied distractedly.

"I know that, but _what_?"

"That spinach casserole thing we had while at Count Blofield's, except this will be the poison-free version, promise."

Natasha huffed. "It had better be, I don't fancy having survived _everything_ that Hydra and the Red Room have thrown at me only to be killed by a _vegetable_," she said before wandering back to the living room.

James rolled his eyes. "Love you too, _dear_," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Cooking/Baking**


	25. Change

**XXV**

**Change**

* * *

The first time, that she could recall very well, that she'd ever fought, well, worked (given that she had conducted assassinations with him) side by side with James was a wintery night in 1965,

The target had been a Russian politician named Ivan Braginsky, and his death was the Winter Soldier's penance for a previous failure in London. The two of them had stalked the target at the theater during a ballet performance, and the Winter Soldier had sniped him later that evening.

Natasha only remembered that night very well because it was the first time in her life that a dead man, _after getting shot to the head and confirmed dead_, proceeded to stand up less than five minutes later and try to kill the two of them in return.

After, she and the Winter Soldier pretended _that_ never happened.

Fighting with James Barnes was a completely different experience.

For one thing, he talked. _A lot_. Over the comms, in person to other teammates, even got into a shouting match _on paper_ with Clint. Sometimes the snark got so bad that Natasha threatened more than once to exile him to the couch, which would either have the desired result or another fight would break out because Clint (and sometimes Steve) took the opportunity to needle him. Natasha often wondered how the hell it was that James became such a good sniper since he couldn't stay _quiet_.

Then she (sometimes alone, sometimes not) would end up with a wall behind her back surrounded by Hydra or A.I.M. or even the run of the mill criminals that became unusually threatening, and then, as the men dropped one by one while others searched for said sniper, she would remember that he used his presence to twist other people's perceptions of him. He presented a character to the enemy, and then revealed his true colors right when the mission came down to the wire.

It worked so far.

Natasha had had to adjust to this new fighting partner, she had grown up with a man who had to be prodded before uttering much when in public, much less the battlefield. But the current experiences weren't all new.

James still swore when something went wrong, often times in a language other than English. Whacking opponents with the closest weapon on hand was still the same, especially when it was close quarters combat and he had nothing else to work with. The same level of ferocity was there, and came out at the same times as well; when he was either cornered or she was injured and about to be overwhelmed.

He also always kept his back to her, the greatest sign of trust she could ever ask of him. Even when the Winter Soldier had returned in the twenty-first century and she gave him a good dose of 'cognitive recalibration' several times, James always kept his back to her when the two fought.

It was a sign that he continued to trust her with his life.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: In battle, side-by-side**


	26. Insubordination

**XXVI**

**Insubordination**

* * *

There was a time and place for everything.

An argument on the battlefield went completely against that.

"Nat, don't make me turn that request into an order," James growled as he lined up the shot; the latest candidate for Hydra leadership was within sight. He knew it was going against the original plan, but the enemy had changed _his_ plans at the last minute, so while Steve and Natasha kept the overzealous bodyguards distracted while James lined up the killing shot.

"_James, I have a good line of sight here, I can charge him_," Natasha snapped back; James could see her lithe form moving smoothly through the yellow-and-black uniformed bodyguards (and here James thought Hydra had been bad about uniform colors with their bright green and darker green).

"Negative. He's standing, and I have a perfectly good shot from here," James replied, taking slower breaths as he prepared to take the shot.

"_What if you miss?"_

"I never miss," he quipped, shamelessly stealing Clint's favorite tagline. "Seriously though, _don't go off track!"_

"_Didn't we agree that it was fucked up when the idiot changed his mind?_" Natasha asked rather calmly as she zigzagged through the minions, slowly making her way over to the mastermind.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you right now that you _can't_ change _your_ mind and mess me up," James snapped without thinking over the line.

There was silence, and then a cool, _"Understood._"

Shaking his head, he lined up the shot and fired.

Right as a black and red blur darted in front of the enemy.

"_What the fuck?"_ James roared in Russian over the link, dropping the sniper rifle. He blindly jumped down from his hiding place, and began running toward where Natasha had fallen as did the bad guy; it was hard to tell who had gotten injured or worse, killed. James blindly swatted away foot soldiers and punched a rather persistent one in the face before managing to get to where Steve had moved to protect Natasha from the bodyguards that were now rioting.

Hell in a hand-basket indeed.

"What the hell were you thinking?" James exploded as soon as he saw Natasha sit up from where she'd fallen. He couldn't tell if she was hurt or not.

"That I had a chance, and I damn well took it," she snapped, eyes blazing. "James, we are _equals_ on the battlefield, we _always _have been."

"I could have killed you!"

"But obviously you didn't!" she yelled back, pulling out a small handgun to shoot the bodyguard sneaking up behind her. "James, I'm not your damn student anymore, I think I know how to fight!"

"I didn't say you couldn't!" James took a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I never had any students, that's the Winter Soldier you're confusing me with."

Natasha looked surprised, as though she hadn't thought of it that way. "James-" she began, but ducked to avoid another bullet from behind. Emptying the clip in anger at the threats behind her, she snapped, "I am your equal, you don't need to keep holding me back!"

"I know you're my equal. Excuse me, for wanting to protect the most precious thing to me," James countered, not caring for the sappiness of the statement. It was the truth, plain and simple. To Steve, he said, "I'm going to go get my gun back and provide cover fire. I'll catch up with you two later."

Then he left without another word.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Arguing**


	27. Heal

**XXIV**

**Heal**

* * *

As it turned out, Natasha did not escape completely unscathed.

A bullet, not James's, grazed her, leaving an angry red line across her thigh. James knew it wasn't his; he still used Russian munitions while on missions because it never failed to confuse the hell out of the enemy when they were analyzing the shells later (James knew they did this because he'd witness it while working undercover). While Sanderson treated her, James remained in the doorway, well aware that he was in a pose that could easily count as a sulk.

He waited until Sanderson left the room, looking for a fresh roll of bandages while Natasha waited on the examination table, pressing a swath of gauze to the injury.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then he said, "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head. "It's numb, now that he put iodine on it," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

He didn't say anything, wondering if perhaps she'd preferred their relationship to be back the way it had been before all this happened. Then, dismissing the thought for now, he said, "Well, in that case, I'll head back to the apartment, there's a report or two I have to finish up for Fury anyway." He started to leave.

"Please stay, James."

He paused in the doorway, and glanced back at her. She was usually proud, unwavering, and never showed any weakness. Now, there was a hint of vulnerability as she reached for him, a silent request for him to come closer. He raised an eyebrow as though for confirmation, and at the slight flash of a familiar scowl, he allowed himself a smile before approaching her, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry for storming off both now and back during the fight," he whispered, gently bumping his forehead against hers.

"It's all right… and I never meant to imply that only the Winter Soldier had students," she said, catching the back of his neck as he started to draw back in surprise. "What I meant, is that I learn from you even now. I see you blending what you learned as the Winter Soldier with what you learned while training with Steve. I don't think you're even aware that you're doing it, you probably think you're making it up as you go along. Which I'm not saying is a bad thing, it obviously works, but-"

"Nat… I can't teach you something when I don't realize what's going on, but I can try, now that I know that you're interested," he teased before leaning down to kiss her.

There was a _click_, and they both looked up to see a tired Sanderson standing at the door. "You know, I made the 'Do Not Disturb' signs for a reason," he said irritably, holding the sign up for emphasis.

"We weren't going to do whatever it is you thought we were going to do behind a closed door, I prefer privacy in the sense that I'm back in my own apartment," James replied with such a straight face that Natasha had to cough to keep her laughter from bubbling over at the sight of Sanderson's comical expression of twisted horror.

"Just get out so I can work _uninterrupted_," Sanderson snapped wearily.

James kissed Natasha lightly before going as ordered.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Making up afterwards**


	28. Eyes

**XXVIII**

**Eyes**

* * *

Natasha's eyes weren't exactly green, now that James was actually paying attention.

They were dominantly green, but had flecks of hazel, barely noticeable at any distance except up close. Which usually meant that you were about to die, especially since Natasha rarely ever permitted someone to get that close to her while she was able to do or say something about it.

James prided himself on his ability to read people through their eyes, but felt that he might have trained Natasha a little _too_ well; her entire face was masked and her eyes unreadable. Usually he could see what mood she was in based on the intensity of her eyes, but she'd cloaked her expression completely. Her eyes were not clouded, they were quite clear; it was that they were too guarded. Hiding her thoughts, her suspicions, her feelings from him completely.

"Why?" she asked finally in a very quiet tone.

"Because I want to make sure you're taken care of after I'm gone," he replied calmly; he'd planned out every scenario, every question, and was ready for anything. Even a rejection.

"Don't we already have that taken care of?" she asked.

"Yes, but I want the law to recognize that as well," James replied patiently.

"What's wrong with what we have now?"

"As I mentioned before, the security of the law. It would give me a peace of mind that you won't be completely abandoned again once I die for real." Neither of them knew exactly what it was that the Red Room did to him biologically, but he wanted to be prepared for every outcome. Even for his eventual final death. He'd never quite forgiven himself for leaving her the first time the way he did.

Natasha didn't say anything, just continued studying him in silence. Time seemed to stretch.

Finally, he sighed and then said, "I understand if you don't want to, or need time to think about it." He started to stand up.

"Why now and not sooner?" Natasha suddenly asked, catching him off guard. She frowned, and then said, "Is there an upcoming mission I don't know about?"

"No. It just was something that occurred to me the other day, after Dr. Pym died and left Jan behind. Thought about it for a while. That's all," he replied diplomatically before straightening up completely and sitting back down in his chair. Picking up his fork as though nothing had happened, he started to ask, "Did Fury-"

"You do remember what happened with Alexei, correct? The Red Guardian?" Natasha asked suddenly, her emotions covered as her eyes looked away from him.

He'd heard every word of the tale, from start to finish. "What of it?" he asked.

"How will I know if you're actually dead or faking it?" she asked. "What about repercussions from you? You get more riled up than he did."

James shrugged. "I won't do you a disservice and promise I won't, but you can do whatever you wish, or whatever it takes, to stop me if that happens," he said warily. "Does that mean-"

"Well, it wasn't the most romantic of proposals, but it was enough. Yes James, I'll marry you," Natasha said, looking up at him, her eyes alive again.

He was pleased to see genuine happiness there, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Gazing into each other's eyes**


	29. Bells

**XXIX**

**Bells**

* * *

They both agreed to a small, private ceremony.

Steve and Sharon both agreed to stand in as witnesses, and Sharon managed to coax one of the desk jockeys at S.H.I.E.L.D. to gimmick the records for all four of them that would put their leave time for three weeks each, Steve's and Sharon's overlapping with James' and Natasha's by three days. Sharon also promised to divert Fury's attention for the three days of overlap; something about owed favors and other such nonsense from a man who owed her his life time and time again.

Natasha had opted for a nice gown, but, as Sharon had done at her wedding, also had a 'pocket' that was actually a cut in the dress where she could easily reach the holstered gun in case (even though it was years later and never mind that the Richard family had three children now, _no one_ could forget the time that supervillains crashed wedding of Susan and Reed). James, luckily, was pleased that he could wear his military uniform instead of a tuxedo (like Steve, he'd balked at the thought of a tux. Natasha decided she'd never find out why, if it was really that unpleasant of a thought).

Then he surprised her.

At the little altar, when exchanging vows, he'd gone first.

Quietly at first, he began speaking in fluent Russian, the first time she'd heard him speak more than a couple of sentences since his resurrection; he'd sworn off the language in an effort to cut down on his own PTSD.

For a moment, there was silence after he finished, warm brown eyes anxiously seeking hers. She could read the love, the warmth, and the promise in his eyes.

She took a deep breath, and then in a gesture toward his heritage, spoke her vows in English. Short, sweet and simply to the point as his had been.

Then, with a kiss, the deed was sealed.

As papers were signed, Natasha glanced at Sharon. "How much leave do we have?" she whispered.

"Two weeks, five days, six hours, and two minutes. We can try to get you a longer honeymoon if you want, it might just take a little time so we would need to know… with, say, a couple days left," Sharon said, glancing at Steve for confirmation.

"That and our firstborn, knowing Fury," Steve added, grinning when James snorted.

"He's joking. Just go and enjoy your honeymoon, we'll take care of Fury. And any other baddies, I mean, we've got plenty of Avengers to spare without you two," Sharon said, smiling. Nodding to the door, she said, "Tony says that the _loaned out_ Quinjet is his wedding gift. And that he expects it back in one piece."

"We'll leave only one scratch, it'll piss him off," James said, winking.

"Two. I want to put one in," Natasha said, smirking. "Just because he said we couldn't."

"Well, we didn't hear you say anything, so enjoy your honeymoon and try to stay out of trouble," Steve said, winking before gently tugging Sharon's arm. "Let's go, we need to make sure they have a clean escape."

James merely laughed while Natasha smiled.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Getting married.**


	30. Surprise

**XXX**

**Surprise**

* * *

Natasha awoke to the Spanish sun creeping through half-closed curtains.

Frowning, she rolled over to find James gone. Then she rolled over again to glance at the clock.

_11:34_

_WHAT?_

Nearly jumping out of bed at the late hour (and why the hell didn't James wake her up and where the hell was he?) she reached for her cell phone only to find that someone had turned it off. Swearing under her breath, she started powering it up when she heard the _click_ of their room door unlocking, and then familiar footsteps following the creaking of the opening door. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" she demanded as soon as James walked in, carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper.

"You were tired, I was not. We had a long day yesterday, and you nearly fell asleep at dinner," James said, grinning as she groaned, the memories suddenly coming back to her.

"I also drank too much apparently," she said, rubbing her temples as James set the package down on the bedspread and walked over to the curtains so he could pull them open. "Dammmnnn, I didn't do anything stupid, did I?" she asked, scowling as the sunshine poured through the window and into the room. Somehow, it made her feel more inclined to murder someone. Primarily her new husband for opening said curtains in the first place.

"No, I shook Mario off before he could 'help'. He was just driving me crazy last night," James said, toeing his shoes off before collapsing on the bed next to her. He nudged the package closer and said, "I got that for you."

"Oh?"

He smirked, and then said, "Today's your birthday, genius." Kissing her forehead, he said, "The alcohol must have really addled your memory."

"No, it's more that I've never really had the time nor inclination to celebrate in the past," she said quietly, a smile tugging the edge of her mouth as she reached for the package. Running a hand over the paper nostalgically, she said, "The last birthday celebration that I can remember was with Ivan, before the Red Room."

James gently rubbed her back as she silently recalled the small celebrations she and Ivan used to have. It wasn't anything extravagant, she'd grown up in a militaristic environment, but Ivan had always made a point of doing something special. _'Just like a little princess_,' he'd teased one year (of course, years later, Natasha had wondered if there had been more truth to his words than he initially let on. She still did).

But James was right. She had forgotten her birth date. Probably because she was always used to soldiering on without caring or knowing (on some occasions), birthdays weren't that important when you were trying to save the world. The bad guys never stopped for something trivial like a _birthday_. She'd forgotten what it was like to have a big fuss made over a person over a birthday, and honestly didn't know how to handle it at the moment

"Go on, open it," James said, nudging her with his shoulder. "I've got a special dinner planned later, but thought you'd want to sleep in today, you've definitely more than earned it."

"James…"

She stopped her halfhearted protest when she did in fact open it. Then she whispered, "Oh, James…" before leaning over to kiss him.

He knew her too well.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: On one of their birthdays**


	31. Unexpected

**XXXI**

**Unexpected**

* * *

"James… please tell me you're seeing this."

"I'm seeing it all right, still working on believing," James replied, warily approaching the flailing creature. The two of them had gone down to Málaga for the day, and were enjoying the sun when the creature had crashed out of the water, scaring tourists and residents alike.

And it was definitely Hydra's; the organization's logo had been branded onto the creature's side, and it occurred to James that they were witnessing one of Zola's latest creations that apparently liked rolling around on the beach at the moment, if the incredible amount of thrashing was anything to go by. "I think the question at this point," he said finally, slowly, "Is whether we should kill it now, or see what happens next."

"Why spare it at all? It's one of Hydra's and it's trying to climb onto the beach to go after the tourists," Natasha said, loading her gun.

"Actually, I thought it was just rolling around in the sand," James said, tilting his head to get a better look. It was definitely just rolling around, although it was acting more like a beached fish than playing; it made sense, given the creature's aquatic physical structure. "Or, it's just stuck on the beach."

"Are you kidding me?"

For a moment, neither assassin said or did anything. The creature was now bellowing, but in anger, pain, or play James couldn't tell. He just didn't have enough information to properly assess the situation and act accordingly.

Even when Hydra scientists and aquatic soldiers poured out of the water and started scaring away tourists to get closer to the animal, James was still at a complete loss of what to do. "What do you think, Nat?" he asked, glancing at his wife.

She looked just as bemused as he did. "I think," she began slowly, "I think that creature is about to do our work for us, see?" She pointed toward the creature again.

James turned, and could only watch in dumb amazement as the creature began swiping at the scientists, who were now in full panic. Then, with a loud groan, the creature's flipper caught a firm hold in the sand and it _pushed_, turning itself over so that it was upright and now looked like a gigantic fish, as though out of some twisted old horror movie.

"Are you serious?" Natasha asked, still as dumbstruck as him. As the two assassins watched, the fish began snapping and swiping at the Hydra mioninos, who scattered in an attempt to avoid the large flippers. The unlucky few caught in the swipe were sent flying either further up the beach or way back into the water. "It was a Hydra experiment _gone wrong?_"

"Well, _I'm_ not complaining, it's saving me some time and exertion," James said, casually stepping closer to his wife right as a large Hydra soldier landed with a _thud_ onto the sand. James flinched when the soldier's head hit what sounded like a rock, and then he said, "Maybe there'll be a special on sushi tonight."

"I'm _not_ eating a Hydra experiment, and neither are you!"

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Doing something ridiculous**


	32. Peace

**XXXII**

**Peace**

* * *

"Where do you think we'll be in ten years?"

James turned to look at Natasha. The two of them were sprawled on a private beach along the Spanish coast in the middle of the night. The moon hung above them, a silvery orb casting an ethereal light across the ocean waves. "I don't know where we'll be, but I know that I'll be at your side, wherever that may be," he replied, the soft Russian floating between them. "Where do you imagine yourself to be in ten years?"

She didn't answer right away, but she didn't have to in order for him to guess where she wanted to be. She wanted the normal life that had been stolen from her when she was young, a life that she was glimpsing right now on their honeymoon. The subject of children had never been brought up—he'd read her files, didn't need to ask, figured she'd bring it up on her own if she wanted to talk about it—but it wasn't hard at all to notice the wistful expressions on her face that lasted seconds whenever they were on a beach and there were children running around nearby. Especially the one time they saw a pair of energetic redheaded twins that been yelling at each other in Spanish, substitute Russian for the Spanish and her fantasy would have been complete.

"I imagine," she said finally, "That realistically, we'll still be working for Fury, there's no way out of S.H.I.E.L.D. until come time for retirement from hero work or death. Given that we've both undergone genetic modifications, there's no chance of us dying save for an ultimate annihilation at some point in our future."

He reached for her hand, and softly kissed the back. "Hypothetically speaking, where do you imagine yourself in ten years?" he whispered.

"James, I can't ask you to desert. Everyone assumes that _I'm_ the dedicated one, the one who won't quit, but that's just not true. I miss the little things, especially now that you're here to stay in my life. No one has ever asked me if I _wanted_ to keep being an assassin, I just do it because I have nowhere else to go or know how to do anything else." Natasha laughed sharply, and then said, "The Red Room took that away from me."

James remained quiet, waiting for her to continue and actually answer his question, a topic she was carefully dancing around. "Perhaps… perhaps a way we could make it work, like Sharon and Steve managed," she said finally, thin fingers curling around his.

_With a family_, was the unspoken desire. James knew that if he could, he would have given her that. Circumstances being what they were, he knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if they were granted that life. Leaning over her, James gently leaned forward and kissed her softly, propping himself up so that he could lean his forehead against hers. He didn't speak, not when he could only offer empty words, but he gave her what he did have: companionship and love.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt: Doing something sweet**


	33. Forever

**XXXIII**

**Forever**

* * *

There is always calm between storms.

Natasha knows this, even as she allows James to pull her down again, her hair falling around the two of them in a red curtain of safety. He's hiding something from her, she can tell; the two of them have been together long enough to read each other. There are never secrets between the two of them. Their relationship has come to the point where if one has a secret, the other must trust that the secret-keeper has a reason for holding the information close.

And Natasha is even willing to warrant a guess as to what it's about, the secret he's keeping from her. The civil war over the Superhero Registration Act has finished, but ended with Steve's surrender and subsequent arrest. She can see it in his eyes. Both she and James claimed neutrality, both too used to doing whatever the hell they wanted without getting caught (eliminating the need to have to identify themselves to villains and/or civilians). They'd stayed in Europe throughout the war, but she knows that James won't stand to the side while Steve is in prison. Steve won't go with him, he'd rather stand trial than become a fugitive, but James will want the knowledge that he _tried_ to convince his friend to run. Sharon, having disappeared within S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ranks during the war, reappeared yet remained mentally fractured; Natasha can see it in the other woman's eyes. She knows something will happen as does James, and James will undoubtedly try to head it off before the situation escalates.

So she won't stop him when he leaves in the night. He'll wear her out now, saying good-bye without words, so that she'll be asleep when he leaves to go rescue his childhood friend. She'll be able to truthfully deny ever knowing his plan, and remained untouchable during the dark days ahead. The two planned an escape route—old habits die hard—into Europe so that not even Tony Stark, with all the resources of S.H.I.E.L.D. behind him, will be able to track them. When they plan to disappear, they really do mean _disappear_.

She also won't tell him about the small life she has with her, the one miracle she thought she'd never have again. It will cause him to change his plans, turn all of his attention toward her safekeeping, and while she wouldn't mind that, she doesn't want to slow him down either. She'll just disappear when the time is right, whether the emergency contingency plan applies or not. The two of them were the top best of the Red Room, that is their strength, and they'll be able to communicate without getting caught without an issue. The United States can try, S.H.I.E.L.D. can try all they damn well want to, but if they hadn't been able to capture the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow during the Cold War, they stand no chance in the modern era. The same tools that the hunters will use will be the same tools that she and James will use to escape.

Or, at least that's what she tells herself when she feels James slipping out of the bed later that night.

* * *

**A/N: Prompt:** **Doing something hot.**

**THANK YOU to everyone who has supported me throughout this story! Black Widow, Winter Soldier, and all related media belong to Marvel.**


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